


The Future Is...Now?

by KilltheDJ



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The Young Blood Chronicles - Fall Out Boy (Music Video)
Genre: M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:08:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22157566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KilltheDJ/pseuds/KilltheDJ
Summary: Kobra Kid expects another night of three-in-the-morning adventures.It's the most awkward he's ever seen Sandman.
Relationships: Kobra Kid/Mr. Sandman (Fall Out Boy)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32





	The Future Is...Now?

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD. I just,,,have no impulse control. Oops? Enjoy!

“You wanna go on a drive?”

Kobra groaned, rolling over and smacking whoever is talking to him - but his hand finds only cold metal and he’s met with a harsh reality check.

He’s alone. The voice is talking to him, but it’s crackling from his radio, lost somewhere in the blankets which is why it’s muffled.

That voice is familiar. So he unburies the radio, holding it up as he blinks the sleep from his eyes, sounding groggy and like he just woke up - which he had. “Er, uh, yeah. Sure. Where’d’ya want to meet?”

Silence greats for a moment or so, but Kobra doesn’t notice the hesitation as he fumbles around the darkness of his messy room, struggling to find his boots; subsequently tripping over one of them. One down, one to go.

“Um...I couldn’t sleep, so...anywhere? ...Outside the Diner?”

Kobra sighs. He finds he isn’t surprised in the slightest. “Yeah, jus’ let me find my jacket -”

“I have it, remember?”

“Oh - shit, right, yeah,” Kobra stutters, thinking profanity to himself as he grabs his dusty helmet by the door and puts a blanket around his shoulders in a misguided attempt to avoid frostbite. He drops it just as soon. “D’ya have it with you or are you wearing it?”

Sandman hums over the radio. Despite the static punctuating it, it’s still soothing as Kobra gets everything together, scribbling some note about being back whenever. “Have it with me. Don’t want ya to freeze to death just yet, you know?” 

“Not at all.”

“Whatever, edgelord. Hurry up.” Ah, Sandman whining about menial things like gas and efficiency. Sometimes Kobra wonders what it would be like if the Wars never happened they still had a normal world, and who would Sandman be? He was raised by the Desert and the Lobby, would he still be Sandman?

Nevertheless, Kobra does his best to haul ass out of the diner, sticking his note somewhere on the counter but it may have fallen, oh well.

The freezing Desert air bites into his skin and he can already feel the onslaught of chills racking his body, but Sandman’s there, barely ten feet away, his motorbike’s engine the sole sound of the empty desert, and his smile is warm.

“Took you long enough.” Kobra says it haughtily, jokingly, before Sandman has a chance and catching his jacket as it’s thrown at him, sliding it over his shoulders. It smells like Sandman, a scent that Kobra can never place, and he doesn’t want to in fear of it losing its allure.

“Says you! Where d’ya wanna go?” The safety in his smile, the way it makes Kobra feel safe, but it doesn’t scare him. He is a little sad when Sandman’s smile disappears underneath his helmet, though - unsurprisingly Sandman didn’t wear his helmet here, and that’s why Kobra brought his. 

It also gives him the excuse to cling as tightly as he wants to Sandman, because there isn’t a clunky helmet getting in the way for him and Sandman can actually see where he’s driving since there isn’t any wind. 

“Anywhere. Nowhere. Somewhere.” It’s always his answer and always will be, especially on nights like these where they steal the hours of the night where no one will ask where they are because no one knows they’re gone, not yet at least.

And it’s no answer, not by a long shot, but Sandman nods like he was given precise coordinates, and that’s when he flips Kobra’s iconic GOOD LUCK visor down, leaning back into Kobra’s touch as he leans forward to wrap his arms around the boy who holds his heart.

The sand kicked off the ground barely reaches Kobra’s boots - worn and torn, the soles too smooth for traction from nearly being melted by the hot sand again and again, he needs to get a new pair -, and soon they’re headed somewhere, but Kobra closes his eyes tight and lets the feeling guide him.

It isn’t often he lets himself relax like this. He doesn’t see why. 

Sandman’s own leather jacket is cold to touch but quickly warms up, and Kobra’s hands are able to snake around his waist and connect, and Kobra’s hair tickles his nose as he lays his head on Sandman’s shoulder but it isn’t long before the wind is pushing it away.

The wind chill is what’s biting into his fingertips, now, but Sandman doesn’t have gloves on, either, so they must be getting close to an unset destination, surely. 

This is home.

_

“I’m starting to see why you let Benze do all the explosives,” Kobra deadpans, looking at the singed ends of his hair. At least he wasn’t going to have split ends anymore? Was that how that worked?

Sandman grins sheepishly, holding a lighter in one hand and absolutely nothing in the other. It had previously been holding a can of Febreeze, that had been tossed into the fire they’d started a few minutes ago. 

They were absolutely nowhere. There wasn’t anything but sand and maybe the edge of Route Guano around for miles, and Kobra knew Dracs tended to stay out of areas like this but they still came by. 

His ray gun was left at the Diner.

But Sandman had his ray gun - never went anywhere without it (Kobra usually didn’t either, but he was in a bit of a rush), - and Kobra didn’t doubt they could take down a squadron of Dracs together.

In fact, half the fun of randomly leaving the Diner in the middle of the night is seeing if they end up encountering trouble. Sometimes it was nice, sometimes - like now - Kobra was content with the here and now.

He realizes, belatedly, he shouldn’t he staring. He’s definitely staring.

It was a moment to capture, though, Kobra was sure. There were times he wished he brought Ghoul’s old polaroid camera - a real shame that Ghoul hid it from them so they didn’t waste the film, wasn’t it?

Sandman’s smile deserved to be preserved in a photo, something time nor death could touch. It was too… rare and important for that.

Of course, Sandman laughs and smiles all the time, certainly more than Kobra does or ever will, but it isn’t genuine, or at least it isn’t the genuine smile, the one able to light up the night sky.

“Are you okay?” Sandman asks, too soft and too gentle in the blurred light the fire reflects across his face. 

“Jus’...enjoyin’ the time I have with you, always.” As infuriating as Sandman could be at times, it was true. 

They were killjoys. Who knew how long they had left to live? And… Kobra was tired of wasting that time for pointless arguing.

Well. Pointless arguing with Sandman. He’s still pissed at Poison for taking his crayons - sure he was planning on melting them down to fling at Ghoul and Jet later, but like, now Kobra had to make an entire new plan!

Sandman smiles that stupid beaming smile of his again, all directed at Kobra, and Kobra melts. “I’m glad. I don’t know how I’d ever spend my nights if it wasn’t with you.”

“Me neither,” says Kobra, knowing in his heart that, if not for Sandman, his nights would be spent with more misery and terror, and Hell, probably an accidental ray gun shot here and there. Or maybe he would spend his nights riding alone, searching for a goddess he’ll never find the spirit of. 

“Do you...If we _could,_ yknow, _would_ you ever live with me?” 

The question is out of the blue. It hits Kobra off-guard, looking at Sandman with a quizzical look and pretending to debate something he already knows the answer to. 

It’s also a good excuse to sit closer to Sandman, since they’d been sitting across from each other. Sandman’s shorter, yes, but Kobra likes laying his head on his shoulder regardless. “‘Course I would. Livin’ with someone doesn’t mean you ditch your old crew, y’know?”

“‘Sides,” Sandman shrugs - or attempts too, then remembers Kobra is on his shoulder -, seemingly playing off his own question. Why is he playing off his own question? “This is the Zones. It’s not...living alone necessarily, you just officially switch between where you’re stayin’, Maybe the real lucky ones get to settle down an’ raise a kid or somethin’.”

“Do you trust either of us with a toy baby, let alone a real one?” Kobra hums, looking at the fire and loosely wrapping his arms around Sandman for the second time tonight, but this time, Sandman can return the gesture.

“Um, Detonator is the one who decapitated the toy baby last time I saw it. I think their name is Angel now.”

“That doll is the most demonic shit I’ve ever seen and I barely know what that word means,” Kobra huffs jokingly, giggling. “The last thing from an angel I can think of.”

Sandman opens his mouth to say something - Kobra can feel the intake of breath - but says nothing; instead, surveys his surroundings, searching for something Kobra can’t see. Then he shrugs Kobra off his shoulder; Kobra goes back to how he was sitting, legs mermaid-style or whatever the hell Jet called it the other day, tapping a rhythm on his leg. 

And that’s unusual. 

Kobra’s concerned look must’ve made it worse, whatever Sandman’s trying to say, because he looks nervous. Sandman never looks nervous. But he holds his hand up when Kobra opens his mouth to say something, so he waits.

Not patiently, but he waits.

“Spe - speaking of angels,” Sandman starts, stuttering, with this hopeful look that makes him look so much like Kobra’s favorite person in the firelight. He’s twisting his thumbs, his hands in his lab. “Speaking of angels, you’re...well, I don’t really know what an angel is, but from what I hear they were important amazing people and… Shit, I’m sorry, this isn’t coming out like I - “

“What are you trying to say?” Kobra interrupts when it seems Sandman can’t find the right words. He has no genuine clue, and he’s not sure he wants to from the jittery way Sandman is sitting. Is it something bad?

Sandman swallows. “I’m… I don’t know. This is supposed to be romantic and shit, I tried to - to make it sweet but you know - you know I can’t talk when I get nervous and… I’m just trying to say I love you, I’m pastel for you, I’m whatever term you want to use but a whole lot of it. You’ve been… You’ve been extraordinary and amazing and you know when to ask and when not to, and I mean, you’re _totally_ kickass, and - and I know everyone always says the future is bulletproof, but… Can I have my future with you, Kobra Kid? Now?” 

Kobra manages to stay confused, an inquisitive look at his lover, and at that Sandman curses “Oh!” and fumbles with the inside pockets of his jacket. 

“It’s, um...It’s not much but, I made that?” 

“You have to let me see it, Sandy,” Kobra laughs, softly, because Sandman’s thumb is covering whatever he’s trying to show Kobra. 

“I hope you like it…” Sandman says as he takes Kobra’s palm from where’s it resting on his leg, dropping in whatever trinket it is and going absolutely red in the face, and it isn’t just the fire. 

The confused expression Kobra’s wearing would’ve stayed on longer had his curiosity not gotten the best of him; he overturns his palm - 

And suddenly he understood what Sandman’s trying to say. 

_Mr. Sandman, the Youngblood, the crash queen, is proposing to him._

In Kobra’s hand is a three-inch by three-inch patch. The patch itself is black, but the design - fuck, the design. The stitching isn’t the best but it’s obvious how much time was put into it...how long it took to find a good way to mix a snake emblem and the odd electrified cartoon bass Sandman insisted be his logo. 

You could tell from the varying in the stitches that someone had helped him. All for… Kobra?

“D’ya - um, d’ya want it, or do you say no, or -”

“I love it,” Kobra grins; a grin that reaches his eyes, and he’s holding the patch, afraid to break it, afraid to lose it. “And yes. Destroya, yes, a thousand times, how is that even a question?”

“Well...I thought it was established, but I… wanted something more official. To hear you say ‘yes’. And...I had Phoenix help me with the patch, I hope it looks okay - I made one for me too!”

And that, right there, that is what makes Kobra roll his eyes, wrap his arms around his - his what? Fiance? - fiance’s body, and kiss the living shit out of him. 


End file.
